


Yours, All Yours

by BravoWriters



Category: Bravo Team (RvB OC)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Secret Relationship, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BravoWriters/pseuds/BravoWriters
Summary: A fancy dress party finally gives Thirty the chance to see M all in white. Figures it was never going to last.





	Yours, All Yours

Thirty knocked on the door twice, neatly. “M? We’re going to be late…”

“Just a second,” she called back, and he was surprised to have to wait for her at all because he’d seen M change her clothes in ten seconds flat. Then again, this was a special occasion, the sort that had him in a tuxedo. He adjusted the cuffs, making sure they sat neatly on his wrists. It was vain, to be sure, but he was happy that M would get to see him like this.

Keeping their relationship a secret wasn’t particularly difficult on his end; he didn’t have many friends as it was and on missions it was easy to stay professional. It was only that he didn’t want to keep it a secret. He wanted to kiss her at breakfast or in the hangar without worrying about who would see them, and he wanted her to be able to stay the night without having to bolt too early. It would be nice to sleep in with her in his arms.

The door opened and she stepped out saying, “sorry, sorry, I know we need to go.” And he knew she’d be dressed up, knew she wouldn’t look the way she did on a lazy afternoon with her curls tumbling wild over her shoulders. He knew she’d be in a gown, but imagined it would be the burnt orange of her armor or maybe green, which would look pretty with her hair. He didn’t expect to ever see her all in white. He’d never let himself imagine her all in white.

She looked up at him like she was wondering why he was so silent. “You look shell-shocked. Everything alright?” And God, she was wearing just a bit of makeup, and he couldn’t care less except that the black around her eyes made them look massive, a bright shining gold.

“You– you look beautiful,” he said past the lump in his throat.

She laughed just a little. “That is shocking.”

“No– no. You’re always beautiful but I never thought…” She looked at him expectantly and he almost wished she wouldn’t. Her eyes were utterly arresting and staring into them tended to disrupt his line of thinking. “I never thought I’d get to see you in white,” he said finally.

She wrapped her hand around his elbow to balance herself on her heels. They made her a bit taller, but only a bit. “I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I chose it.”

He could think of nothing to say to that and didn’t try.

“You look gorgeous as ever,” she continued, and nudged him to start walking towards the elevator. “I’m so tempted to muss up your hair.”

“Don’t you touch my hair,” he warned, but softened it with a smile. “We’re at an official function. You can mess me up later, if you have to.”

“I do,” she said, and jabbed the down button on the elevator. “I hate these things. I don’t want to go.”

“Me too. Me neither, I mean.” He’d never been very social as it was, and normally the _pilots_ were exempt from having to entertain the businessmen that kept the Project funded, but this time… This time he was rooming with Six so at least it wasn’t just him.

She looked down, frowned, had to adjust the strap of her gown to cover the little bruise he’d left two nights ago, and he blushed to see it. “Sorry,” he said, hoping that a little bruise wouldn’t be enough to break their cover. “That’s mine.”

Her mouth twisted up into half a smile and when she’d covered the hickey she looked up at him. “Didn’t you know? All of me is yours.”

All of his instincts told him to scoop her up and carry her back to her room, damn the party and spend the night laughing in her arms. But he knew his obligations and he would stick to them, even if that meant watching her across the room and trying not to stare at every tilt of her chin. Even if that meant hearing her bright laugh and not knowing what the joke was. Even if that meant pretending he wasn’t completely, painfully in love with her.

So he did the only thing he could do and pulled her close, pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo. She was a soldier, she could bench four hundred pounds easily, but when she sighed against his chest like that he wanted to hold her so close that nothing was going to hurt her again. He didn’t spend much time thinking about what would come _after_ – he liked his work and he was good at it, and that was enough. It wasn’t something he could do forever but that didn’t matter.

Until M, and now late at night when he had the courage, when she was curled up soft and asleep beside him and he could still feel the warmth from where she’d straddled his thighs, he let himself imagine those indomitable eyes behind a veil or a pretty garden with the big dog she wanted bounding through the grass or her face lit up by a Christmas tree while a baby with her curls sat playing on the floor. And that was stupid, he knew it was stupid, knew it was such a pointless impossibility to think about, but ten thousand memories in potentia flipped behind his eyes when he saw her all in white.

It was tiring, the pretending. He wanted to kiss her without worrying who would see them and he wanted her by his side during the day too, and when she led him back to his own room, he didn’t want her to have to try so hard to keep quiet. But he didn’t want to say any of that aloud for fear it would scare her away, so instead he just said, “and all of me is yours.”

That made her smile when she pulled back, and seeing it made _him_ smile. “I love you,” she said, and he wanted to shout it from the rooftop but he’d always been practical so he said it quietly.

“I love you. And you look lovely with your hair up.” Honestly she always looked lovely, but she never seemed to believe him when he said that and anyway he didn’t want her to think he didn’t appreciate the effort she’d clearly put in.

“Thanks,” she said as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in. “I wanted to look nice.”

“I’m sure the Director will appreciate that.”

She snorted, pressed the button for the lobby. “Not for _him._ For you.”

Alright, he had to kiss her for that, and he tipped her chin up to meet him. He probably could’ve spent all night like that but pulling away was worth it to see her hazy smile and half-lidded eyes like a cat sleeping in sunlight. “My Alessio,” she said in half a sigh.

He never thought much about his name at all before, and the _hiss_ of the double-S sounded particularly jarring after getting used to the sharp edges of _Thirty._ But it didn’t sound like a hiss in M’s mouth, it sounded soft and smooth as running water, and it made him feel almost vulnerable to hear it aloud, like it left him more naked than he would be with his shirt off.

“My Phoebe,” he said, just to say it. Her name was as delicately pretty as she was, nicer than the bulk of _Massachusetts._

How’d he get so lucky?

The elevator dinged and she dropped his arm immediately; him leading her in might not raise too many eyebrows but arm in arm certainly would. Already he missed her touch. They took their seats at the Bravo table, Thirty between Vermont and Oregon and M between Mitch and West. “Everyone shows up in pairs,” said West. Her napkin had been folded like a swan but she’d knocked it over and was trying to fix it.

“It was either I get chaperoned or I decide last second to shimmy down the fire escape instead,” said M, sipping her wine. She was careful not to look at him, and that was right of her but he felt a touch lonely anyway.

“You could’ve asked me. We’re roommates. For two days at least.”

“And what a glorious two days it will be. You’d get impatient, West. Me getting ready for, like, a party involves _at least_ twenty-eight minutes of staring in the bathroom mirror and weeping.”

“That’s a little pathetic,” said Mitch. “No offense, M, but that’s a very sad thing you just said to us.”

She shrugged and one of her curls bounced loose from her up-twist. That was M all over; just a little too big to be easily contained. “You look nice, Mitch. Red suits you.”

“Thank you, M. You look nice too.”

“Thanks, Mitch,” said West a little loud. “I look nice too.”

M laughed. “Fishing for compliments? That’s sad, West. You’re like an easy ten, you don’t need to try this hard. Don’t you have standards?”

“I like people who are alive. With skin. Attracted to me, preferably.”

“Surely I can concede the title of _said the most pathetic thing this evening.”_ Mitch raised her glass in a mocking toast and returned to her conversation with Miss.

“Well, M, not all of us can be as lucky as you.” At that Thirty snapped to attention. He didn’t know West _terribly_ well– he didn’t know anyone on Bravo terribly well– but he knew M trusted her with all her heart. West was the only one who knew about their relationship. Surely she wouldn’t spill that secret for the sake of some banter. “That guy in the laundry room’s got a crush on you. What’s his name? Cunningham? He leaves chocolate in your clean laundry.”

“He doesn’t,” said M, feigning weariness.

“He does. I just take it before you can ever see it.”

“So you’re admitting to breaking into my room and rifling through my underwear drawer and this is supposed to be embarrassing _me.”_

West shrugged, couldn’t hide a smile. “You got me. You know better than to let a teammate go rifling through your underwear.”

And even though no one was looking at him, Thirty tried very hard to hide a blush.

All things considered, Bravo team did a good job at making him feel welcome all through dinner. He usually had an open invite to parties but never attended and so they all seemed a little… surprised to see him. “I’ll be honest,” said Oregon. “It didn’t occur to me you had a face under the helmet.”

“Well, here I am,” he said, and internally winced. Someday he might like to have charisma. He took a sip of wine to give him something to focus on. As dinner came to a close more people started mingling, and he hoped to God that no one would want to talk to him; this was supposed to be about the financiers meeting the results, talking to the Freelancers, maybe interacting with some of the AI. So if anyone wanted to talk to him, and he really hoped they wouldn’t, they might at least ask about his work, and that wouldn’t be the worst thing.

M was scanning the room to see if maybe anyone needed her and York caught her eye from the opposite end of the hall, made a motion like he was pulling a train’s whistle, and M excused herself to go socialize. “Hey, Flyboy,” said West from behind him. “Wanna dance?”

He turned around and much like with M, nothing good could come of West grinning like that. “Is anyone else dancing?”

“We’re in a ballroom,” she said, like he was an idiot.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, but got up and followed her to the dance floor anyway. He did not know how to dance, particularly, but he put one hand on her waist while she put hers on his shoulder, with their other hands clasped. They swayed, a little. It was close enough.

“So you may have noticed I mentioned in front of the whole table that M and I are roommates,” West said.

“Yes…” He’d already known. M was excited about it.

“Which means everyone knows that she and I will be pretty inseperable for the next two days. Just like everyone knows the pilots are all rooming together a couple floors up.”

Her point still eluded him. “I suppose.”

_“Which means_ that no one necessarily has to know if I’m not _in_ my room tonight. And if I’m not, well, I’d think M might like some company.”

_Oh._ Oh, he wouldn’t have dared to ask, but a night alone where he knew they wouldn’t be interrupted… “You’d do that?”

“Yeah, sure. M would do it for me. And besides,” she said with half a smirk, “she gives me all the good gossip.”

He flushed up to his ears and had to try very hard not to stumble. “I’ll try to give her a good story to tell you,” he said, and he meant to just give it back to her but he sounded so nervous that he just got more embarrassed.

Her brows shot up and she laughed. “Thanks for trying, Flyboy. Have fun, stay safe, all of that.” She made him twirl her around and then left to go talk to someone else.

The rest of the night passed with relative ease. He didn’t get the chance to dance with M, didn’t think that was a risk he could take, but every once in a while she’d sit beside him in the guise of resting her feet and they could chat. “You’re good at talking to people,” he said once, after seeing her make some businessman laugh.

“It’s easy,” she said. “They care a lot more about meeting Lambda than meeting me, so I don’t have to do much at all.”

Someone did, in fact, ask about his work, and he could spend twenty minutes talking about it without needing to take a breath. That killed some time, and so did trying and failing to make conversation with Vermont, who was as awkward as he was. That was some relief.

It had to be close to midnight when things were most obviously winding down. “I hate these shoes,” M said to Mitch. “I’m about to sprain my ankle.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

M waved off the question but Mitch wasn’t so easily distracted, folded her arms and waited. “Probably too much,” M said eventually, sighing.

“Bedtime, M. You have to do this again tomorrow and I do not want to splint anything tonight.”

“Hm.” M took a few stumbling steps towards the door. “I feel like a foal learning to walk.”

Mitch sighed, rubbed her temple. “Thirty, you’re not busy. Can you make sure M gets back to her room without breaking anything?”

“Can do, ma’am,” he said, trying not to sound too eager. It may not have worked. His cheeks felt hot. But Mitch didn’t question or stop him, just watched as he took M’s arm and led her carefully out into the corridor.

Immediately her demeanor changed. She kicked off her shoes and picked them up, and she stood a little straighter, eyes shining. “I thought you were drunk,” he said, surprised.

“And with any luck, so does Mitch. C’mon.” She had her shoes in one hand and hiked her skirt up to her knees with the other and bolted for the elevator and after a beat he smiled and followed her at a pace closer to a jog. 

As soon as the doors closed behind them she cupped the back of his neck and drew him down to a hot, deep kiss, the kind that hit him to his knees, and he groaned. He pulled the clip out of her hair to let her curls spill around her cheeks. They only just barely managed to separate before the doors opened on her floor and he followed her to her door. While she fumbled for her key-card, he kissed her neck.

“West said she wouldn’t be home tonight,” she said, and then groaned. “So we have time. C’mon. You look damn good in that tux but I bet you’d look even better out of it.”

***

“I don’t want to go back,” Thirty confessed softly. It was late morning and it had been a beautiful quiet day with M, only briefly interrupted by West, messy-haired and tired but smiling, who grabbed a change of clothes and then bolted again. M didn’t have to train, didn’t have a mission, he didn’t have a flight… No one was getting in without their express permission. He spent the long night with M in his arms and she woke him at daybreak to make love slow and warm. They could curl up together, shower together… He was relaxing in just his boxers and she’d worn just his dress shirt until he warned her that he couldn’t keep his hands off her like that, so she changed into a fluffy hotel bathrobe.

“To your room?” she asked, looking up at him from where her head rested in his lap. “Is Six that bad?”

“No. To any of it. To the ship, to the secrecy. I don’t want to leave this room, I don’t want to watch you get dressed, I don’t want this to end.”

Her eyes slipped closed. “I know. Me neither.”

No, she didn’t understand, she sounded wistful like a long-awaited vacation was coming to a close but for him this was _painful,_ the sort of ache that comes from knowing you might not ever get a chance like this again. Even if no one ever found out, even if they both made it to retirement, how long was he supposed to live like this? How long could he survive with M as just his late night companion instead of at his side all the time?

She must have gotten something from his silence, though, because she opened her eyes again and looked at him with a soft downturn to her mouth. “It’s too hard,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know it would be this hard. I hate being away from you, I hate pretending I’m not in love with you.”

They’d been together for awhile but hearing her say _I love you_ still left his head spinning.

“And,” she continued, twisting her fingers together, “I keep thinking… what’s gonna happen when we leave, y’know? When are we gonna get a chance like this again? Is this as good as it’s ever gonna get?”

“I don’t know… I wish I could tell you it would only be a little while but I can’t know. I don’t know if we’ll make it to retirement together.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the kiss-swollen bow of her mouth, and she nuzzled into his touch like a dozy cat and it all swelled up inside him so strong and fast that either he spoke or he exploded. “Marry me.”

“You just said– retirement might not be for–”

“Not when we retire. Now. Tonight. Phoebe,” he said, and her mouth twitched. “Phoebe, I love you. That’s about the only thing I do know right about now. And I know we can’t tell anyone, I don’t have a ring and it won’t change anything except that we’ll know. And I don’t know if I’ll get to retire, if I’ll get a house and a dog and a baby that looks just like you–” Her lip quivered. Did she think about that too? “I can’t control any of that right now. But if we die tomorrow, say, I want a night where I have a wife. Where my wife is you.”

“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”

They couldn’t very well leave the hotel in either their finest or not much at all, so he went back to his room just long enough to grab the casual change of clothes he’d brought and shoved his suit and her dress into a backpack. He’d ripped the zipper of her dress a little trying to get it off and she’d spilled champagne on his jacket sleeve, but it would have to do. She pulled her hair back like she had the night before, shouldered the bag, and they left.

No one particularly noticed; as long as they were back in time for that night’s party, it was pretty much expected that they would take advantage of being planetside and take off into the city. Thirty could not for the life of him remember what the city was called and didn’t much care because M had more curiosity than common sense and he had to laugh trying to trail her down every twisted alley. “Where are you _going?” >_ he asked when she stared down a fork in the road with her hands on her hips and a very serious expression on her face.

“Cities like this usually have a street market, right? On nice days? And I’m hungry, and usually there’s someone selling jewelry.”

“Do you have any money?”

“Fifteen credits,” she admitted. “So I can take one of us to a movie theater.”

“I’m sure I could sneak you in. You’re pretty small.” He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. She was flushed with excitement and it brought out all her freckles.

They did find a market when she bit the bullet and asked someone for directions. M bought some strange-looking blue melon for them to share, sweet as honey and just about as sticky. While she was distracted trying to get her hands clean, he bought a hibiscus that looked like it was dipped in gold and helped her wind it in her hair. He’d love to bring her flowers more often and he hoped someday she’d be able to wear flowers he’d grown in his own garden.

And there were indeed jewelry carts, dozens of them clustered unevenly on the wide cobbled street. Some they passed right away, like one prominently displaying a gold tiara inlaid with an opal the size of his fist. One seemed to be particularly modest so M marched on up and set her hands on the cart. “I have ten credits and I need to get married,” she said to the woman running the cart. “Are you able to help me?”

The woman smiled, pulled a box from under the cart. It was a jumble of simple jewelry apparently too plain to display. “Nothing fancy,” she said, while M dug through the box. “Just rhodium, I’m afraid.”

“Isn’t rhodium incredibly rare?” he asked, and dutifully tried on the ring M handed him. A little big, so she kept looking.

“Not here.” The next one M handed him fit, so once she’d found her own, she left the ten credits with the seller and thanked her. “Do you have a venue?”

“We have nothing,” said M. “Not even common sense.” Thirty smiled.

The seller pointed down one of the streets. “Half a klick that way, turn left, two klicks straight on. There’s a temple a lot of the colonists frequent. You wouldn’t be the first to shotgun a ceremony on vacation.”

They thanked her again together and set out, hand in hand. “I hope you don’t regret this,” she said.

“Me? I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it, Phoebe,” he said, and squeezed her hand. “I love you. I hope you don’t regret it.”

She glanced up at him, and it was a quick look but even the briefest flash of those eyes left him breathless. “I’ve never regretted you,” she said. “Not a moment. And I’m not starting now.”

Sure enough, the temple priest was very understanding and led them to a tiny chapel, let them change clothes and told them to hold hands. M looked a little tired, like she usually did, and he was terrified to think of what a mess the wind had made of his hair, but she was smiling so wide and bright that they could’ve been in the process of drowning and he’d still feel alright. The stained-glass windows made a rainbow of M’s dress.

“I, Alessio,” he said, and the rush of syllables sounded a little strange in his voice after years of the Anglican _Thirty,_ “take you, Phoebe, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” He slipped the ring on her finger and bit back laughter.

“I, Phoebe,” she said, sounding just a little close to tears, “take you, Alessio, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” Her hands shook when she gave him the ring but she was smiling.

“Then by the grace of God I now pronounce you–” But he was already kissing her, her hair curling around his fingers and her mouth sweet with melon juice.

They had no threshold for him to carry her through, no bed of their own he could drop her on where they could spend that night and all nights to come, and he knew by the time they got back to their hotel they’d have to be in their casual clothes again, so he settled for scooping her up and carrying her out of the temple doors to set her down at the base of the steps.

“My wife,” he said, not to get her attention but just to say it aloud. “My _wife.”_

“My husband,” she said, and rested her head against his arm. “I don’t want to go back.”

For a moment the wild, stupid part of him considered defecting, just changing their names and maybe their clothes and catching the nearest ship to some galaxy far away. Their expensive armor was still on board… but she still had Lambda and he couldn’t ask her to leave West and her other friends. He just couldn’t, no matter how bad it hurt him to stay.

“We have another party to get ready for,” he said, to be pragmatic. “If I’m very lucky West will ask me to dance again.”

“We can trade longing glances across the room because we both just want to leave and get back in bed.”

“To nap,” he said with a little smile. “Since you woke me up so early this morning.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining. You were saying a lot of other things but complaining wasn’t–”

“Don’t be difficult.”

***

West did not ask him to dance with him again, and more’s the pity. She did however catch him staring at M and stepped in front of him to get his attention. “She looks lovely,” she said.

“Hm? Who?”

_“M.”_

“Oh,” he said with a sigh. “Yes. Yes.” She’d left the hibiscus in her hair and her dress was black, and the contrast had her glowing like candle flame.

“Thirty. My man. I get it, but you really have to relax. You’re being super obvious and someone besides me is gonna notice. Stop staring at your girlfriend.”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Okay– partner, lover, soulmate–”

“Wife,” he said quietly. “She’s my wife.”

For a moment West just looked shocked. “Wh– when the hell did _that_ happen? You didn’t invite me? Thirty, are you for real?”

He tried not to smile, knew it was a big deal and that he shouldn’t be so flippant about something that had the capacity to ruin them, but… well, was he supposed to resist her forever? “We had a couple hours this afternoon.”

_“This afternoon?_ I thought you were gonna say you were drunk last night…” Mounting panic warred with exasperation on her face, like she couldn’t decide if she should lecture or congratulate him. “You can’t be serious.”

“No one will know, we won’t wear the rings–”

_“You bought rings?”_

“And I know you won’t tell. You won’t tell, will you?” She wouldn’t, there was no way, M would never have trusted her with any of the information about their relationship if she didn’t trust her with her life and more than that her heart.

“No,” she said, and sighed. “No. Just… this could be dangerous, you have to be careful. It’s one thing to slip between the sheets,” and he blushed, “but dating– love– _marriage_ … I think even the Director would notice if you requisitioned a white picket fence.”

He laughed a little. “I know. I’ll take care of her.”

“I know. God knows someone has to. And now, what, am I supposed to take care of you? Be careful. Be happy, if you can, but be careful.” For all that her expression was almost grave, she slapped her hands on his shoulders. “Look. You’re family now, which means I’m duty-bound to ruin your day whenever I find it necessary. It’s possible I will fall through your vents. You will definitely get the brunt of my Christmas spirit when the time comes. Everyone comes to a relationship with baggage and I am _bound and determined_ to be baggage enough for both of you.”

“I look forward to the chaos.”

She cocked her head a little. She and M had the same way of examining him, like they could see straight into his soul and were deciding whether or not they liked what they found. He didn’t know if they were drawn to each other because of similarities like that or if they just grew their habits together. “This might be the first conversation I’ve ever had with you where you aren’t stumbling over every other word.”

“What can I say. M’s rubbing off on me.”

“I bet she is,” West said with a smirk, and he blushed up to his ears and had to look away.

The night kind of slipped away from him after that and wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as the night before, which was a tremendous plus. He lost track of pretty much all of Bravo team after a while, dared a dance with M, even found it in him to lie to Six about where he’d been, and so when M pulled him away and murmured that she wanted to go back upstairs, he was more than ready.

But he had to admit he was surprised to see West when they got back to her room. “Oh,” said M. “Are you… still here?”

“It’s my room,” said West with a little smile. And he couldn’t ask her to leave, it wasn’t his place or his personality, but it was his wedding night and M looked achingly beautiful all in black and the touch of her hand on his waist during their dance drove him crazy.

“Look,” she said, not ungently. “I know you guys want a night together again, but… one night was hard enough to explain to everyone, and we have to leave early tomorrow. If anyone comes to wake us up, it needs to be just you and me here.”

She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to think of spending a night, any night, _this_ night away from M. “Okay,” M said quietly. “Okay.”

“But, uh,” she hopped up from her place on the bed, “I can take a walk for… fifteen minutes?”

“Twenty,” said Thirty.

“Twenty. Sure. Can head down to the ballroom, see if there are any mini quiches left, take the stairs instead of the elevator..” She shrugged on a sweatshirt and ducked around them.

The moment she was gone, Thirty closed and locked the door and wound his hands in M’s skirt, bunching it up at her hips. “You are so beautiful,” he said, kissing down her neck. “So beautiful.”

“Wanted to look nice for you,” she said, and gasped as his teeth scraped against her collarbone. “We don’t have _time,_ Alessio…”

“I know, I know…”

“I wish we _could_ take our time. Tonight and every night.”

She said it like he didn’t feel the same, like he didn’t want to damn them all, wear his ring, kiss her in front of the Director– in front of everyone. He wanted it, _wanted it_ like she wanted it. He just didn’t ever expect to get it. “I know,” he said. “I know. The time–” They didn’t ever have time, not the time they wanted. He’d never once left M feeling like he’d gotten his fill of her.

She groaned, pushed his shoulder. “We did slow this morning, just fuck me.”

He swallowed hard, pulled his ring out of his pocket, put it on. “Yours?”

“Bedside table. Let’s go.”

It didn’t take them twenty minutes. Thirty liked to think he had better stamina than that, usually, but he was acutely aware that they were on the clock and they were drunk on good kisses and bad wine and she looked too damn beautiful for him to wait. She didn’t move right away, after, so he cupped her cheek with his ringed hand. “I love you,” he said softly. “I hate that I can’t spend my wedding night with you.”

“Me too,” she said, just as soft, and carded _her_ ringed hand through his hair. His eyes narrowed in pleasure at the touch. “But I– I’m glad we have a wedding night. And tomorrow, tomorrow when we get back–”

“You’ll have to sneak out and make excuses and leave too early so we don’t get caught,” he said, and she bit her lip. If it were just sex it would be easy. They could do that anywhere, like she kept murmuring she wanted to, in the showers or in closets or in either one of their rooms. If she got her way that list would include his ship. He wasn’t sold on that one yet but she usually got her way. But this wasn’t just sex, it was love and it was _marriage_ and there was no way anyone could see them in an intimate moment together and not know immediately that it meant something.

“I know,” she said, “but it’s– it’s better than nothing.”

“I know,” he echoed, and sighed. “Is it too early to consider retiring?”

“They’d never let us. You’re too good and I’m too young.”

He nodded slowly, his thumb rubbing her cheek. “If nothing else, we got this. They can’t take this from us. You’re my wife. All the days of my life, right?”

“Right,” she said with a little smile. “My husband.” And he tried to smile back at her but he knew it was going to be tinged with sadness. “We’d better get up or West is gonna catch us like this.”

They got cleaned up and presentable and Thirty stuck around to watch M change into pajamas, very carefully set her flower on the counter, and then he rolled his sleeves up so he could brush out her hair himself. “Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes to enjoy the smooth motions of the comb.

“You’ve got such pretty hair.” He struggled to braid it like she did so it was slow-going but he was determined. It was a very particular kind of intimacy and he wanted to extend the warm, pretty moment as long as he could. Besides, he wasn’t stubborn about many things, but doing favors for M was absolutely one of them.

That was how West found them, when she stumbled back in with a mini quiche and a smudge of unfamiliar lipstick on her cheek. “Aww, sweet,” she cooed, and M opened her eyes specifically to roll them. “Have fun, lovebirds?”

“Mm hm,” said Thirty, and tied the braid off. He very gently tugged it and laughed when M spun around to smack him in the arm. “That was longer than twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, turns out the catering crew was not willing to give up the goods.” She dropped onto her bed and bounced a little. “But I just put my silver tongue to use.”

“It does look like you put your tongue to some kind of use,” said M. “You still have lipstick on your cheek.”

West touched her cheek and swore when her fingers came away red. She got up and kicked them out of the bathroom so she could close the door, and they heard the sink start running.

“Guess I’d better go,” he said, and cupped M’s cheek. “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“Not your fault. I’m– I’m glad we did this.” She tipped her chin up so he could kiss her soft and slow. “I’ll see you in the morning, right?”

“Absolutely. I’ll make sure of it.” But he still didn’t leave, didn’t let her go. As pretty as she was all dressed up with flowers in her hair and wine staining her lips, he liked her barefoot and drowning in shirts way too big for her. He knew her best half-asleep.

“Lessi?” she asked, eyes big and sad. “What are we going to do?”

How he wished he had a concrete answer. _We’re going to buy a house. We’re going to have a garden and an honest-to-God white picket fence. We’re going to make it._ “I guess the same thing we’ve been doing,” he said, instead of any kind of false hope. He wasn’t good at easy comfort and M wasn’t an easy person to comfort anyway. “Our best. I love you, Phoebe.”

“I love you, Alessio.”

And the closest thing he could make to a promise was that he didn’t take his ring off when he left her there.


End file.
